


Parochial

by deleerium



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2011-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleerium/pseuds/deleerium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LOTR RPS AU, Orlando and Elijah as catholic school boys – modern, USA, takes place in a big city in the south. Orlando's a serial transfer student; Elijah the motorcycle-riding, baby sitting, soccer playing, smart ass boy next door -- only hotter. Pure, unapologetic fluffiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Check your teeth, pumpkin.”

“Mum, seriously.” Orlando sighed and pulled down the visor, baring his teeth at the vanity mirror and giving his perfectly pressed school uniform a quick once over. “Good enough.” He flipped the visor shut and opened the car door.

His mother looked at her watch. “I’ll send the driver to pick you up at four.”

“It’s not that far.” Orlando climbed out and slung his leather messenger bag over his shoulder. He shut the door and leaned down, looking at his mother through the open window. “I'll walk.”

“But pumpkin,” she said, her bright mouth turning down at the corners, “it’s your first day.”

“Mum.” Orlando hitched his bag higher and gave a quick glance to the steady stream of students climbing out of the line of cars. “I know where we live.”

“Are you sure, pumpkin? We've only been here a week.”

“Goodbye, mum,” Orlando said, his smile full of exasperated affection as he waved her away. After waiting for her to pull away from the curb, he turned and followed the line of students up the drive. His gaze drifted over the well manicured campus as he walked.

St. Mark’s Academy was larger than most of the schools he’d attended. The massive gray stone buildings were linked by canopied archways, the grounds well kept and the landscaping extensive. “It could be worse,” he said, digging in the messenger bag for his schedule. In the past eleven years, he’d attended seven private Catholic schools. Chances were St. Mark’s was more or less like all the others. “Now I've just got to find the chapel and figure out what I have for first period,” he said, pulling a neatly folded sheet of paper from his bag.

“Yo, chapel's through the rose garden.”

Orlando turned, startled by the sound of a voice so close to his shoulder.

A stocky male student beamed at him. “Hi there,” said the student, attacking Orlando’s hand with a shake that moved both their arms up and down. “I’m Sean, Sean Astin. You must be the new guy from New Hampshire. Florist or Flower or something. I'm Sean.” He laughed. “Ha, I already said that. Anyway, Sean Astin, Student Body Vice President. Welcome to St. Mark’s. We've got assembly in the chapel - only place big enough for all of us. It’s past the rose garden, there.” He pointed. “Big steeple.”

Orlando blinked, then smiled. “I'd never have guessed. Thanks.” He looked down at his hand, still caught in a damp grip. “Could I have my hand back?”

“What? Oh yeah, sorry.” Sean let go and wiped his hand on the front of his navy jacket. “I can be a little intense during introductions. At least, that’s what Dr. K says. Debate coach. Likes single malt scotch. But I like to get a feel for a guy, you know? Feel like Dale Carnegie sort of feel, not like gay or anything.” His eyes widened and he held out both hands. “Not that I have anything against being gay, of course, it’s the 21st century – but you can tell a lot about a guy from his handshake.” He gave Orlando a quick once-over. “Your uniform is tailored. Your mom drive a Lexus? No, a Mercedes, I'll bet. Especially with that watch – that model came out just before mine.” He checked his own watch. “We should get going.” He hiked his laptop backpack onto a brawny shoulder and gestured for Orlando to follow, leading him around the main building. “Short cut is through the rose garden.” They ducked under a wide arbor and Sean pushed open a gate. “Student parking's on the other side. Only Juniors and Seniors can drive on campus, though. You’re a Senior, right? Do you have a car?”

Orlando shook his head. “No.”

“Really?” Sean’s face twisted into an expression of deep sympathy and he clapped Orlando on the shoulder. “Did you do something to piss off your ‘rents?”

Another pause. “No,” Orlando said, looking up as they emerged on the other side of the garden and stepped off the curb into the parking lot. “I won't have one until I graduate,” he said, turning his head at the unexpectedly loud rumble of an engine. His eyes widened at the sight of a motorcycle pulling into the student lot. It wasn’t the wide handlebars, the vintage leather seat, or the aged chrome that caught his attention – it was the guy riding it. A crumpled uniform tie dangled in a loose red loop around the guy’s neck, wraparound sunglasses glinting in the morning sun. His dark hair was gelled up in all directions, his jacket sleeves rolled to his elbows, a brightly colored t-shirt showed at his collar, and he had far too many shirt buttons unfastened, his shirttails flapping. The guy was haphazard, unstudied and casually thrown together.

And Orlando couldn’t stop staring. His shoulders slumped, just a little. Even if he hired a personal stylist, a fashion consultant, and a half-dozen hip, young designers he would never – not in a million years – look that cool in a high school uniform.

Ever.

He was contemplating the value of investing in Marc Jacobs when Sean said, “Hey, look out,” and grabbed his arm, yanking Orlando out of the path of the oncoming bike.

+

Elijah leaned hard to the side, snaking the motorcycle around the spot where a fellow student had been standing a moment before. He braked, easing the bike between two parked cars and cut the engine. Putting down the kickstand, he dismounted and snagged a backpack from one of the saddlebags on the back, slinging it over his shoulder as he walked over to where Sean and Orlando were standing.

Orlando cleared his throat and resisted the urge to straighten his tie and run a hand through his hair. His grip tightened on the strap of his messenger bag and he tried not to stare at the swath of pale skin visible between the un-tucked shirt tails, or the way the guy’s trousers hung a little too low on his hips.

Stopping in front of the two boys, Elijah pushed his sunglasses up on the top of his head and turned a bright blue gaze on Orlando. “You’re new.”

Orlando sucked in a breath. Wow. Short, but really…wow. He opened his mouth to introduce himself and achieved total failure. “Ehrm.”

Lips quirking at the strange sound, Elijah stuffed his hands in his pockets as he looked at Sean and raised one eyebrow.

Sean beamed. “Yeah, so Lij, this is…” he stopped and turned to Orlando. “Sorry, Flowers, I didn't get your first name.”

“Orlando,” said Orlando, clearing his throat when the word came out an octave higher than usual. He tried again. “Orlando Bloom,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Bloom.” Sean slapped himself on the forehead. “That was it, not Flowers. Flowers was the moniker to remember Bloom.” He heaved a sigh. “I have got to start writing shit down.”

Elijah ignored Sean, his gaze sharp as he stared at Orlando. “I’m Elijah,” he said, looking down at the offered hand before he took it. “Elijah Wood.”

Orlando’s smile was wide as he shook Elijah’s hand. Elijah’s skin was warm to the touch and a little rough where their palms met. “Nice bike,” said Orlando, and promptly blushed. Nice bike? NICE BIKE? He could feel the heat wash over his cheeks and down his throat.

This time both of Elijah's eyebrows went up. He released Orlando's hand. “Thanks,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Hey, Sean.” He snapped his fingers under Sean's nose and gave Orlando a quick, inclusive glance. “Let’s go.” He turned towards the chapel. “We're gonna be late.”

Sean checked is watch. “Crap, he’s right. Come on,” he said, turning to Orlando. “Father Hern will have our asses if we miss opening assembly.”

Orlando nodded and followed slowly after Sean. He groaned under his breath. “Nice bike,” he muttered, staring down at his loafers. “And 'I carried a stupid watermelon', too. Hi, I'm Orlando, I just learned how to talk.”

Sean looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“Nothing,” Orlando said, hurrying to catch up.

+

Elijah's hands were still shaking as he slid into the front pew of the chapel. He'd nearly run over the guy in the parking lot and it was his own fault. He’d been staring. Staring at the long line of him as he’d pulled into the lot, wondering who the guy was. Then the guy had turned around and looked right at him. Fuck. Elijah ran a hand through the mess of his hair and let out the breath he’d been holding. He was lucky he hadn't run his bike into the wall.

That guy – Orlando – was like, crazy gorgeous. All dark eyes and coppery skin and long body and man, those curls. And that accent. Elijah shifted in his seat, tucking in his shirt and fixing his tie to distract himself. Definitely fucking British. He cleared his throat and watched out of the corner of his eye as Orlando slid into the pew on the other side of Sean. Elijah caught Orlando looking at him and watched as another deep wash of color crept across Orlando's cheeks. Elijah grinned and wondered how far down the blush went.

The opening notes of the school song jerked Elijah out of his reverie and he dropped his gaze, rummaging impatiently in his backpack for a stack of note cards. Elijah knelt with the rest of the students through the first prayer, the cards held tight as Father Hern droned through the usual blessings. The prayers finished, Father Hern glanced at him and Elijah stood up.

“Gentleman, I give you your new Student Body President, Mr. Elijah Wood,” said Father Hern.

Elijah walked to the podium.

Orlando’s mouth fell open.

+

“You tested out of fifth year Spanish?” Sean dropped his backpack on the cafeteria table and threw himself down in the chair.

Startled, Orlando looked up from his half-eaten sandwich and history homework. “Yeah.”

“French too?” Sean wrestled a small plastic container out of one pocket and a Red Bull out of the other.

Orlando leaned back, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, how did you know?”

“I saw your file. You must be some kind of polyglot.” Sean fumbled open the lid and spilled a collection of multicolored pills into his hand and chased them down with the energy drink. “I work in admissions during second period. Seven schools in eleven years, dude, that's a lot of moving around. What do your parents do anyway? Is it your dad's job that moves you all the time? You really should sign up to be a student tutor, it doesn’t pay but it looks good on your college resume. Traveling around must have been cool. Were you born in the UK?”

Orlando blinked, trying to keep up. “Yes, I lived there until I was six.” He watched Sean swallow the handful of pills. “What are those?”

“Supplements,” said Sean, his sigh enormous. “Mom’s got me on a special diet again.”

“That’s…too bad,” said Orlando, polite hesitation in the response. “And what’s this about being a tutor?”

“Not a lot of effort required on your part, just point them at a few exercises in the textbook, and they’ll do the rest on their own. What’s really important is that you take the opportunity to network.” Sean said, emphasizing the last word with a reverence most people reserve for deities and super stars.

Orlando blinked. “Network,” he said, his lips twitching into a smile. “Okay, who do I talk to?”

“Already done.” Sean chugged the last of his drink and belched. Loudly. The students at the next table applauded and Sean rolled his eyes. “Told Sister Mary that you’d stop by after lunch. Room 111, down in language arts.” He shoved back from the table, chair scraping the floor as he hauled his backpack to his shoulder. “Tell her you'll only take Juniors and Seniors or she'll pawn the freshman off on you.”

“Juniors and Seniors, right.”

“Oh, one more thing.” Sean pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and flapped it at Orlando until he took it. “I changed your schedule. You’re in the second session of calculus and you have econ after history now. The guy teaching the earlier session is a total tool. You'll like Father Parker better. And you have Lunch B.” He grinned. “Elijah and I are in all of those classes, too.”

Orlando gaped at him, the schedule dangling limply from one hand. “Huh?”

Sean clapped him on the shoulder. “It was Elijah’s idea. He thought it would be easier if you had class with people you know, since you’re new and stuff. I’ve got to run. Choir has rehearsal during second lunch.” And he was gone.

Orlando closed his mouth and looked down at his revised schedule. His grin was slow but stunning.

+

“So, do you want a ride?”

Orlando spun around so fast he stumbled. “Huh?”

Elijah looked amused. “A ride home,” he said, enunciating each word. “In fifth period I heard you tell Sean you were going to walk home.”

“Oh, sure. Yeah,” said Orlando, shrugging in a way he hoped looked causal. “If it’s no trouble.” He hiked his messenger bag up on his shoulder as he followed Elijah to the student parking lot.

“It’s no trouble,” said Elijah, glancing at Orlando as they walked. “You live a few blocks from me.”

Orlando stared at him. “You know where I live?”

“Yeah,” said Elijah, grinning as he stuffed his backpack in one of the saddlebags on the back of the bike. He held his hand out for Orlando’s bag. “Don’t you?”

“Kind of,” said Orlando, his smile shy as he handed it over. “I know the address. But how do you?“

“One guess,” said Elijah.

Orlando grinned. “Sean.”

“You learn quick,” said Elijah, rummaging in the other saddle bag.

“Hey, shouldn’t you wear a helmet when you ri—oh.” Orlando blinked as he looked at the helmet Elijah had placed in his hands. It was old fashioned, but looked serviceable enough.

Elijah backed the bike out, straddled it and put his own helmet on, buckling the strap under his chin. “Climb on.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Orlando put on the helmet and swung a leg over the back of the bike, settling gingerly on the seat behind Elijah.

“Here.” Elijah leaned down and wrapped his hand around Orlando’s ankle, lifting Orlando’s foot to rest on the metal brackets behind his own. He stood up on the starter and bounced. The engine turned over with an easy rumble.

Orlando made a suspiciously high-pitched sound and clutched Elijah’s jacket.

Elijah looked over his shoulder at him. “Have you ever ridden on one of these before?”

Eyes wide, Orlando shook his head.

Elijah tapped one of Orlando’s hands. “You’ll have to hold on a lot tighter than that if you don’t want to fall off,” he said, his grin wide. “Just lean when I lean. You’ll be alright.”

Orlando nodded and let his body slide forward, holding his breath as he wrapped his arms tight around Elijah’s narrow waist and came up snug against Elijah’s back. He swallowed hard and tightened his grip, trying to ignore the way Elijah felt warm and solid and really fucking good pressed against him. Think of England, think of England. Queen and Country. Gah. The engine roared and he squeezed his eyes shut, holding on for dear life as Elijah pulled out of the parking lot.

At least now he was too scared to be horny.

+

“You can open your eyes now,” said Elijah as he guided the bike around a corner.

Orlando opened his eyes and peered over Elijah’s shoulder. They were moving at a sedate pace down a wide boulevard a few blocks from the school. He relaxed a little, loosening his death grip on Elijah’s waist. “I can’t believe your parents let you have a bike,” said Orlando, loud enough to be heard over the engine.

“It was my dad’s,” said Elijah, moving over a lane to turn into Orlando’s neighborhood.

“Really? What, did he just give it to you?” Orlando asked.

“Nah, he died,” said Elijah.

Orlando stiffened. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Elijah, touching the arms still looped around his waist. “It happened a long time ago. Which house is yours?”

“The grey stone, up on the right,” said Orlando, leaning with Elijah as they turned into the wide driveway. He was getting the hang of this whole motorcycle thing. “You can pull through to the back if you want.”

Elijah drove through the portico and pulled up in front of a four car garage. He cut the engine and took off his helmet. “Holy crap, your house is huge. Do you have a really big family or something?”

“No,” said Orlando, swinging his leg over the back of the bike to get off. “It’s just me and my mum most of the time. My dad travels a lot.”

Elijah looked at him. “There are only two of you, and your place is this big?”

“Well, yeah, along with the staff.” Orlando scratched behind his ear. He looked at the house, then back at Elijah. “Do you have to be any place soon?”

Elijah shook his head. “Not really.”

“Do you want to come inside for a bit?” Orlando asked. “We could finish up that calculus homework and Chella could make us a snack or something.”

Elijah shrugged, swinging his leg off the motorcycle and putting down the stand. “Sure,” he said, retrieving their things from the saddle bag and handing Orlando his messenger bag. He followed Orlando down a flagstone path that wound between the garage and the house, then up a set of steps to the back door. “Is Chella your mom?”

“My housekeeper,” said Orlando, punching in a code on a panel next to the door. There was an electronic click and a beep and the door opened. “She’s the only one here today. The rest of the staff rotates every other.”

“Staff? Like maids and stuff?” Elijah asked, following Orlando down a bright hallway into a huge kitchen. “What does your dad do?”

“Banker,” said Orlando, the response automatic. He’d discovered early on that it was much better to be vague about his father. “Chella, I’m home,” he called, setting his bag on the built-in breakfast nook, sliding over to make room on the bench.

Elijah followed him, setting down his own bag and taking a seat. “Does your mom work?”

“She’s a philanthropist,” said Orlando. “She works with charities and stuff.”

“Oh,” said Elijah, taking a look around. “Man, my mom would freak out at this kitchen. That stove has ten burners.”

“Yeah,” said Orlando, sounding distracted. “I don’t know why Chella isn’t here.” He frowned. “That’s too bad. I really am feeling a bit peckish.”

“Peckish?” said Elijah. He moved back a little on the bench.

Orlando chuckled. “It means I’m hungry.”

“Well,” said Elijah, tilting his head as he looked at Orlando, “we are in the kitchen. Don’t you have food?”

“Of course we have food,” said Orlando, and stood up. He hesitated, teeth worrying his lower lip as he stared at the miles of cabinetry and mysterious stainless steel appliances. “I mean, I’m sure we have food. Somewhere.”

“Orlando,” said Elijah, sliding off the bench to stand next to Orlando.

Orlando turned to look at him, a worried crease drawing his dark brows together. “Yeah?”

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve never raided your own refrigerator?” Elijah asked. He looked like he wasn’t going to believe the answer.

“Well, of course not,” said Orlando, with a small frown. “Mum says it’s bad manners to interfere in the staff’s domain. She says it’s important to make them feel needed and that their jobs are secure.”

“That’s a total crock,” said Elijah. “No offense to your mom or anything, but come on,” he grabbed Orlando’s hand and pulled him around the first set of counters, heading towards a wall of stainless steel doors. “Even I can tell this is the refrigerator.” He opened the first door. “Or it could be a wine cooler, my bad. But good to know.” He grinned at Orlando and tried the next one. “Zub-zero side by sides. Nice. Okay, third time’s the charm and…bingo.” He bumped the door open with a hip and leaned forward, peering into the depths. “What’s your poison?” he asked, already rummaging.

Orlando was staring down at their joined hands, their fingers still intertwined. “Hm?”

Elijah looked up, followed the direction of Orlando’s gaze and then dropped Orlando’s hand like it was on fire. “Oh, whoa, sorry about that,” he said. “I have five brothers and sisters, all younger, so I guess it’s kind of a habit for me to drag people around.” He cleared his throat. “I can be a little touchy feely sometimes.”

Orlando blinked and looked at him. “I don’t mind.”

Elijah made an inarticulate sound, then cleared his throat and turned to the food again. “You want a sandwich or something?”

“Yeah, that’d be grand,” said Orlando, hovering as Elijah moved back and forth from fridge to counter. He watched, fascinated as Elijah expertly assembled two turkey and Swiss sandwiches with all the trimmings, then found plates, chips and two glasses which he filled with ice and soda. Within minutes, Orlando was seated in the breakfast nook again with all of it spread out before him. “Wow.”

“It’s just chips and sandwiches,” said Elijah and took a huge bite of his own sandwich. He picked up his drink and gestured at Orlando’s plate. “Eat up. Your skinny ass could use the calories.”

Orlando stopped, his sandwich halfway to his mouth, eyes wide as they stared at Elijah across the table. He opened his mouth and closed it. Then tried again. “When did you have time to check out my ass?” he finally managed, trying not to laugh when Elijah spewed soda across the table.

Elijah wiped his mouth and grinned at Orlando. “Let’s just say I’m glad I own a motorcycle.”

+

Orlando leaned against the doorjamb, hands shoved in his back pockets, jacket and tie gone, shirt unbuttoned at his throat, bare feet peering out from under his slacks. His hair was unusually rumpled, his voice unusually husky. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah,” said Elijah, hiking his backpack on his shoulder as he started down the steps. He paused half-way and turned to look up at Orlando. “Do you want a ride in the morning?”

Orlando nodded, his smile wide and his cheeks flushed as he looked down at Elijah. “Sure,” he said.

Elijah grinned and took the last three steps with a single jump. “Good. I’ll see you at seven.”

“Alright,” said Orlando, but Elijah was already half-way down the walk, whistling off key.

Orlando closed the door with a soft click and leaned back against it. With a small sigh, he slid down it all the way to the floor. He tapped the back of his head against the wood and grinned up at the vaulted ceiling. “It was very nice to meet you too, Elijah Wood.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay, spill it.” Sean dropped his backpack on the floor and flopped into the desk in front of Elijah.

Elijah didn’t even look up from the pile of student council forms he was reviewing. “There’s nothing to spill.”

“Liar.” Sean glanced around the deserted classroom, then leaned in close and lowered his voice anyway. “Something’s up with you this past week. You’ve got that…that,” he waved a hand around in front of Elijah’s nose, “glowy, ‘I’m-getting-some’ thing going on.”

Elijah snorted, but didn’t look up. “Tell your shrink you need to meet three times a week, not two.”

“So cool,” said Sean, rolling his eyes. “I’ve known you since we were four. I think I know when you’re getting some. Besides, you look just like you did when you were dating Karl.” Sean frowned. “Hey, don’t tell me you’re seeing that jerk again.”

“You’re the jerk,” snapped Elijah as he looked up and thwacked Sean between the eyes with his pencil. “I told you that was over.” He looked back down at his papers. “Ages ago.”

“Yeah, well.” Sean was still frowning as he stared at his best friend, rubbing absently at the spot between his eyes. “He was too old for you anyway. Shouldn’t date college guys until you’re in college.”

Elijah looked at Sean and slowly raised one eyebrow. “He cheated on me. With a _girl_.”

Sean shrugged. “That too.”

Elijah hit him with the pencil again.

+

A horn honked and Orlando started, looking up at the clock. “Crap, he’s earlier than usual.” He threw the newspaper down, gulped the rest of his OJ and grabbed the last piece of toast. “Bye, Mum,” he hollered and snatched up his messenger bag as he sprinted out the door and down the flagstone path. Only to come to a screeching halt when he saw the ancient Toyota minivan idling in front of the garage. He dropped his toast in the driveway when he saw who was behind the wheel.

Elijah rolled down the window – by hand. With what Orlando suspected was a _crank_. “Come on, we’re late and I got suckered into carpool today because my mom’s out of town at an artist convention.”

Orlando nodded and went around to the passenger side. The door opened with a metallic squeal of protest and he stopped, again.

“Oops,” said Elijah, sweeping the collection of fast food wrappers out of the passenger seat onto the floor.

“Thanks,” said Orlando and climbed in, kicking at the wrappers under his feet as he shut the door.

Elijah reversed out of the drive at high speed and said, “Lunches?”

Orlando jumped when a chorus of young voices shouted, “Check!” from just behind him. He turned around and gaped at the seven little kids crammed in the two back rows.

Elijah careened through the neighborhood with only cursory respect for the local traffic laws, then turned left on the main road – in the opposite direction of the high school. “Homework?”

“Check!”

Orlando jumped again and turned to look at Elijah, his eyes wide.

A grinning Elijah shot him a sideways look. “Only five of them are related to me, I promise.” He narrowly missed a crossing guard and swung into the carpool line of the catholic private elementary school that served as one of the feeders to St. Mark’s Academy. “Uniforms, backpacks, space ships?”

“Duh, we don’t need spathe-thips, Litha.” A pixie-faced little girl appeared at Orlando’s elbow. Her gap-toothed grin explained the unique accent.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Elijah, smacking his own forehead. He inched the car forward in line with the rest of the soccer moms. “Space ships are on Fridays, right?”

The little girl giggled, leaning on Elijah’s arm. “You’re silly.”

“Gimme a kiss, munchkin,” said Elijah, offering a cheek as they approached the school entrance. The little girl obliged him with a wet smack, then opened the heavy sliding door with an expert twist of her hand and jumped out.

Orlando started again when a little boy appeared where the little girl had just been. The boy looked remarkably like her. “I’m not kissing you, Lijah. That’s gross,” said the little boy.

Elijah nodded. “Totally gross, Arch. How about a high five instead?” He held up his hand.

Arch considered the offered hand, then giggled – exactly like the little girl – and slapped it before disappearing out the door.

Orlando watched, fascinated, as the rest of the kids clambered out of the back and bestowed two more kisses, one complicated hand-shake, one eye-roll and a sticky, one-armed hug (complete with a generously offered half-sucked tootsie pop) on Elijah. Finally, the van was empty.

“Door!” Elijah yelled and one of the boys dashed back and slid the door closed with a slam. Elijah stepped on the gas and sped out of the drive.

Orlando slumped a little in his seat, messenger bag clutched tight against his chest as he looked at Elijah. “What in the bloody hell was that?”

Elijah switched the tootsie-pop to his other cheek with an obscene sucking sound. “Carpool,” he said, sagely, and nodded.

+

Orlando thought he was more prepared for the afternoon than he had been for the morning. At least until Elijah appeared half-way through his seventh period class with a message that Orlando was wanted in the counseling office. He scrambled to pack his things and followed Elijah down the hall and through the administration building. He straightened his tie and smoothed down his hair as they walked. “Why do they need me in the office?” he asked.

“They don’t,” said Elijah. He walked past the reception area and out the doors at the other end of the building. The student parking lot was on the far side of the building.

“What? Wait,” said Orlando, pausing on the threshold before scurrying down the steps after Elijah. “Where are we going?”

“I told you, I have carpool this afternoon and the munchkins get out twenty minutes earlier than we do.” He unlocked the van, climbed inside and leaned over to unlock Orlando’s door.

“So, we’re—” Orlando sounded horrified as he scrambled into the front seat. “We’re cutting?”

Elijah shook his head and started the car. “No, we’re not.” He pulled out of the lot and headed towards the elementary school. “Right now you are in the front office having a conversation about your college choices with the guidance counselor. I am in the nurse’s office recovering from a minor bout of food poisoning because of something I ate at lunch.”

Orlando put both hands over his face and sagged in his seat. “We are so cutting class.” He dropped his hands and glared at Elijah. “I’m so screwed if my parents find out about this. Eleven years, seven schools and my attendance records are perfect. Perfect, do you hear me?” He twisted his hands together. “Do you have any idea how hard that is to do? I haven’t even missed school for being sick. Not once.” He shook a finger at Elijah. “Not ever.”

Elijah backed up from the finger and looked at him. “That’s pretty fucking sad, actually.” He reached over and slapped Orlando on the shoulder. “Relax, man. You were in every class when the teachers took attendance, right?”

Orlando nodded. “Well, yes, technically—”

“See? You’re not skipping,” said Elijah. “Besides, we’re only leaving a half hour early. It’s not like they’re going to send the Truant Officer out after us or anything.”

Orlando’s face paled. “There’s really a Truant Officer?” he whispered.

“Seriously, Orlando,” said Elijah, shaking his head. “You need to relax.”

+

Orlando was exhausted by the time Elijah pulled into the driveway of a sprawling, one story ranch house just a few blocks from his own home. He watched as the kids wrestled open the door and spilled out of the van, scattering in all directions. There was a moderate amount of screaming involved. He flinched when the passenger door squeaked open.

“Come on,” said Elijah, leaning over to wrestle the sliding door shut. “Bill won’t be home until later and I have to fix them a snack.”

Orlando nodded and climbed out. “Who’s Bill?” he asked, following Elijah through a two car garage that looked like a Hamley’s warehouse for retired toys. He suspected an actual car hadn’t been parked inside it for at least a decade.

“My step-dad,” said Elijah, opening the back door and leading Orlando through a crowded laundry room and into a large kitchen with 70’s era appliances and sunshine yellow countertops. “Set your stuff down, this will just take a minute.” He dropped his bag on a huge pine table crammed into the breakfast area, shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

Orlando set down his bag and leaned against the counter to watch. It didn’t take long for him to notice Elijah knew his kitchen as well as any professional chef. Elijah didn’t waste a single motion as he grabbed paper plates with one hand and snagged fruit from a hanging basket with the other. He thumped his elbow against the wall and a paring knife dropped from a magnetic wall hanger right into his hand.

He looked over his shoulder at Orlando. “Hey, would you mind grabbing some juice boxes out of the fridge for me?”

“Sure,” said Orlando, going over to the fridge and opening the door. “How many?”

“Four should be enough,” said Elijah, rummaging in the pantry to retrieve peanut butter and raisins.

“But aren’t there seven of them?” asked Orlando. He sounded confused.

“Yeah,” said Elijah, “but no kid finishes a whole drink and the twins usually share. Could you grab the celery while you’re in there?”

“Celery.” Orlando stared at the inside of the fridge for a long moment, juice boxes cradled against his chest.

Elijah chuckled. “Try the drawer that says vegetables.”

“Oh, right,” said Orlando, pulling open the drawer and fishing out the bag of shiny green stalks. He shut the fridge, dropped the celery next to Elijah and set the juices on the table, arranging them in a neat row.

“C’mere,” said Elijah, gesturing at him with the paring knife.

Orlando folded his jacket over a chair and went over to stand next to Elijah. “What are you doing?” he asked, looking down at the hodgepodge of food.

Elijah turned his head, snagged Orlando’s tie and tugged. “This,” he murmured, touching their mouths together. The kiss was chaste and quick and so hot it made Orlando’s knees buckle. Elijah let go and went right back to chopping.

Orlando swayed a little and had to prop himself against the counter. “Ernh—” He shook his head and frowned at Elijah. “You shouldn’t do that,” he said, trying to sound annoyed and failing entirely.

Both of Elijah’s eyebrows went up. “I didn’t hear you complaining the last time.”

“That,” Orlando cleared his throat, “that was different.”

“How?” asked Elijah, reaching around Orlando to grab a package of raisins, his arm brushing against Orlando’s waist.

“There weren’t—” Orlando clutched the counter top. “We were _alone_.”

Elijah shrugged. “We’re alone now, too.”

Orlando made a disgruntled sound and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked at Elijah’s hands, watching as he smeared peanut butter on one celery stick after another. After a few minutes of staring, Orlando sighed, leaned into Elijah’s line of sight and pressed their mouths together – a proper kiss, this time. At least, if the way Elijah made an inarticulate sound and dropped the knife to tangle a hand in Orlando’s hair was any indication.

“Ew, gross.”

They both froze.

“Shit,” Elijah whispered, barely voicing the word as he dropped his hand.

“I told you,” Orlando hissed and leaned away, his cheeks berry bright.

Elijah looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Arch. Snack’s almost ready.” He set a plate of pear and apple slices on the table, then sprinkled raisins on top of the peanut-butter covered celery.

“Yuck, I wanted Oreo’s,” said Archie, sighing with his whole body as threw himself into a chair. He picked up a slice of pear. “Why was he kissing you, Lijah?”

Orlando shot Elijah a look of panic, but Elijah just shook his head a little and ruffled Archie’s hair as he set the last plate on the table. “His name is Orlando, remember? And he didn’t believe it this morning when you said kissing was gross,” he said, his tone casual as he went back to the counter to clean up.

Archie turned in his chair to look at Orlando. “See? Totally gross, right?”

Orlando made a choked, snorting sort of sound and then nodded. “Totally,” he managed, strangling on the word.

Elijah threw a raisin at him.

Orlando laughed and ducked the next one.

+

“It’s nearly dinner,” said Orlando, shutting his text book and rubbing his eyes. He nudged Elijah in the ribs as he put books and papers back in his messenger bag. “I should get going.”

Elijah tipped his head back until it touched Orlando’s shoulder. His back was warm from where they had been leaning against one another on the floor. “I can take you home.”

“No, thank you,” said Orlando. He rose to his feet and stretched. “I feel like a walk, anyway.” He picked up his bag and jacket, then put his tie in his pants’ pocket.

Elijah looked up at him. “Okay.” He stood up, stretched and sighed, rubbing a hand back and forth over his hair as he looked around the room. “You have everything?”

“Yeah,” said Orlando, folding his jacket over his arm. He smoothed the fabric a few times, then looked at Elijah. “Thank you for having me over.” His lips quirked. “Your family is great. A bit crazy,” he teased, “but great.”

“They like you,” said Elijah, setting his hand on the doorknob. The door was still propped open the requisite two inches. The sounds of the house echoed faintly down the long hallway – the twins arguing, someone talking on the phone, the TV still on in the den. Slowly, he turned around and leaned against the door.

It shut with a soft click.

Orlando dropped his bag and jacket and crossed the room in two strides, crowding Elijah against the door, his hands framing Elijah’s face. Orlando’s long body hovered so close Elijah could feel the heat of him as a single hot line from knees to shoulders. Foreheads, noses, cheeks – touched and then touched again. Elijah’s breath skittered in and out of his lips as Orlando tipped Elijah’s head back, thumb stroking the skin under Elijah’s jaw.

“I like you, Elijah,” Orlando said, the words dragged back and forth across the plush curve of Elijah’s lower lip.

Elijah grabbed Orlando’s shirt with both hands and made a sound when their bodies finally, _finally_ collided – lost under Orlando’s kiss.

+

“Oh, Oh, well duh!” Sean dropped his literature book abruptly on the library table and smacked himself on the forehead. He chuckled and smacked himself again, dropping his head into both hands before jerking upright and beaming in goofy delight across the table at Elijah and Orlando. “I’m such a…of course it’s…I mean, duh.” Another smack.

Elijah and Orlando looked up from their calculus homework with identical expressions of confusion.

Elijah looked a little worried. “You okay there, Sean?”

Sean shook his head and waved a hand. He was still chuckling. “It’s nothing. Well, it’s not nothing, I mean it’s great. Way better than…except that I’m supposed to be so good at observing and I can’t believe it took me this long…with the…given all the…” he appeared to choke, coughed violently, took a deep breath – visibly struggling not to speak – then waved a hand in their direction. Again. “Don’t mind me, you two.” He picked up his book, still beaming. “Carry on, carry on.”

Orlando looked at Elijah. “He sounds like my Uncle Neville,” he whispered. “Uncle Neville drinks. Excessively.”

Elijah shrugged. “He gets like that sometimes. I think it’s all those bizarre diets his mom makes him do.” He turned his attention back to their homework, his head bent close to Orlando’s as he pointed out a mistake in Orlando’s work. Orlando sighed and handed Elijah the pencil.

Sean peered at them over the top of his book and beamed some more, settling down in the library chair with a sigh of complete contentment. _Way better than the last one, Lij. Way._

+

| SMS TXT  
| FROM: E WOOD  
|  
| U FREE SAT?  


Orlando dropped his pen when his mobile phone buzzed against his hip in the middle of history. He retrieved his pen and slipped his hand in his pocket as he sat up, sliding the phone open under the edge of his desk. When he saw who it was from, his gaze darted up one row and two desks over. Elijah was smirking at him over his shoulder. Orlando gave him a _look_ \-- texting in class was an instantaneous detention.

Elijah returned the look with one of his own. Orlando rolled his eyes, then punched in a reply.

| SMS TXT  
| FROM: O BLOOM  
|  
| Y ?

| FROM: E WOOD  
|  
| PIC U UP @ 9

| FROM: O BLOOM  
|  
| A M ?

| FROM: E WOOD  
|  
| Y & WEAR SNKRS  
| & HAT

| FROM: O BLOOM  
|  
| ?

| FROM: E WOOD  
|  
| BC I SAID 2  
| NOSY

| FROM: O BLOOM  
|  
| KK  
| FREAK

| FROM: E WOOD  
|  
| BTW  
| UR TIE’S CROOK

  
Orlando dropped his hand from his tie and glared at Elijah, who’s shoulders were vibrating with what was clearly suppressed laughter.

| FROM: O BLOOM  
|  
| IZ NOT  
| U GIT  


 

+

“You coach soccer?” Orlando asked, still standing outside the open door of the van.

“Referee, actually,” said Elijah, plucking the front of his shirt. “Thus the striped shirt instead of a velour jogging suit.”

Orlando tugged his khaki visor down a little. “I meant referee,” he said and climbed into the front seat, pulling the door shut firmly behind him.

When Elijah didn’t put the car in gear, Orlando turned to find Elijah giving him a slow once-over. “What?”

Elijah shook his head and put the van in gear, draping his arm around Orlando’s seat as he backed out of the drive. “At least I don’t look like I’m going on a date with Tiger Woods.”

Orlando looked down at his immaculate robin’s egg blue Calloway polo and freshly pressed khaki shorts. “You’re the one who said hat and sneakers,” he said, smoothing a hand down his shirt.

“I’m not complaining,” said Elijah, his voice dropping to a murmur.

Orlando shivered when he felt fingers stir the hair above his shirt collar, then both of Elijah’s hands were back on the wheel.

“Who’s ready to play soccer?” Elijah asked, looking in the rear view mirror.

Orlando didn’t even jump when a chorus of, “Me!” spilled from the back seats.

+

Panting, Elijah jogged over to stand next to Orlando between games three and four. He leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees.

Orlando handed him a towel and a sports drink from the cooler.

“Thanks,” said Elijah, straightening. He emptied the bottle in seconds and wiped the glow off his face before dropping the towel on the lawn chairs behind them. He glanced at Orlando, who stood there looking cool and composed despite the insanely hot temperature. “You don’t seem to mind the heat.”

Orlando shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I like being outdoors.”

“Have you ever played soccer?” Elijah asked, tipping his head towards the field.

“No,” said Orlando, shaking his head. “Not really.” He smiled at Elijah. “But you’re pretty good.”

Elijah shrugged. “I played until sophomore year, but the game schedules were insane so I decided to quit soccer and referee for the pee-wee’s instead. I get to pick the schedule and it keeps me in shape.” He squinted at the little bodies running in chaotic pods back and forth across the field. “Anna, honey, the goal line is the other way this time,” he called, and ran back onto the field.

+

Elijah slid into the booth across from Orlando and set a plate piled with buffet pizza between them. “So, did you totally hate it?” he asked, keeping one eye on the tables full of shrieking kids in soccer uniforms.

Orlando grinned and shook his head. “Not at all. It was fun,” he said. “I mean, they’re not very skilled yet, but I can see the potential.” He picked up a slice a pizza and took a bite. “Anna’s got a good sense of ball control already. Archie’s got a pretty powerful kick, if he can learn to aim it. The others are too little, but it looked like they were having a good time.”

“So you were paying attention,” said Elijah, grinning around his soda straw.

“Of course,” said Orlando, tilting his head. “They’re your family. I know they’re important.”

Elijah cleared his throat and focused on his soda, his cheeks tinged pink. Orlando couldn’t tell if he was still flushed from all the running, or if it was for a different reason entirely.

“Do you play anything?” Elijah asked. “A sport or something?”

“A sport,” Orlando repeated. His hand tightened on his napkin, his face an unreadable blank.

“Hey,” said Elijah, touching the back of Orlando’s hand with a finger. “Did I say something wrong?”

Orlando looked up. “No, sorry.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “And yes, I do play something.”

“Really?” Elijah ate half a slice of pizza in one bite. “What?” he asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Orlando shook his head, his smile crooked. “It’d be easier to show you. Are you free next Saturday?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Good,” said Orlando. “I’ll pick you up at seven. And Elijah?”

“Yeah?”

“Wear a hat and sneakers.”

+

“Do you have the calculus assignment done from yesterday? I had hockey practice last night and totally spaced it,” said Sean, throwing himself down in an empty chair.

Orlando blinked. “You play hockey?”

Elijah snorted and rescued Orlando’s milk and remaining half-sandwich from Sean’s flailing. “Ask him what he doesn’t play.” He flipped open his calculus book and pulled out the completed problems.

Sean grinned and turned to Orlando. “I don’t play badminton, volleyball or anything else that involves excessive amounts of jumping. I play hockey in a community league – fewer practices that way – so I have time to do swimming and track until football starts.” He opened up his backpack and started rummaging. “Summer’s the worst, though because I really don’t like missing swimming for track – too hot – I throw shot put and discus. Ancient sport you know. Greek.” He wrestled a plain brown paper bag out of his backpack and shoved it at Orlando. “Speaking of, I got you these. I figured since you and Elijah were having sex now, you might not know where to go around here for condoms and lube and stuff.”

Orlando spewed milk across the table, the paper bag clutched to his chest.

Elijah calmly handed Orlando a napkin from his own lunch bag and looked inquiringly at Sean. “Sean? How did you know Orlando and I were going out?”

“Huh? Well, it took me a couple of weeks, but it’s kind of obvious. I mean, I know you’re…you know, you. And I figured with the way Orlando had been looking at you and you giving him rides to and from school every day and looking like you do when I know you’re getting….not that I blame you, I mean, if I were gay, I’d totally want a piece of that. Orlando’s hot – just look at him.”

Orlando’s head made an unpleasant sound as it connected with the cafeteria table.

Without looking, Elijah gently pulled Orlando upright by the collar of his shirt.

Sean waved a hand at Elijah. “Not that you’re not hot, Lij, because I’m sure you are. Well, maybe more cool than hot. I think. Anyway, I could tell you guys like spending time together. That and I saw you making out when we were at the Starbucks over on Preston Road last week. You really should make sure the restroom door is actually shut before you get it on in a place like that, especially one so close to the school.” Sean shrugged. “I’m just saying’.”

Elijah nodded. “Mm, you have a good point.” He kept his palm against Orlando’s forehead to keep the table from causing too much damage.

+

“Elijah, honey?”

Elijah growled under his breath and fiddled with the hairs sticking out from the edges of the visor. “I just look dumb,” he said, yanking it off his head and stalking back into his bedroom.

“Elijah.”

“Yeah, mom?” he hollered, tossing the visor on his bed and retrieving his favorite baseball cap from the closet. He put it on and looked in the mirror. _Much better._

Debbie knocked lightly on the open door. “Honey,” she paused, sticking her head into the room, “do you know why a limousine would be parked in front of our house this early on a Saturday?”

Elijah gaped at her. “What?” he asked, the word coming out abnormally high pitched.

“A limo, dear. A nice silver one,” she turned back down the hall, pulling the colored pencil out from behind her ear as she walked. “It looks like a Lincoln.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Elijah muttered, snagging his wallet and keys as he headed out the door. He paused on the front steps and shook his head. “Seriously?” He took the steps two at a time and shoved his hands in his pockets as he cut across the lawn.

The driver’s door opened and a distinguished looking gentleman stepped out. “Good morning, sir,” he said, and opened the back passenger door for Elijah.

Elijah blinked at him. “Good morning,” he said, and stuck his head in the door. He looked at Orlando who was sitting on the bench seat just inside.

“Hi,” said Orlando, looking a little nervous.

Elijah crawled in next to him and waited until the door was shut behind him. “A limo? Really?”

Orlando lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “I don’t drive,” he mumbled

“What?”

“I don’t have a license,” said Orlando, the words clear this time. He gestured as he spoke. “I don’t know how to drive, alright? Instead, I have a driver. I’ve had one my whole life and it’s not that big a deal. Even Mum just learned how to drive a couple of years ago. I’m going to get a license, I just haven’t yet.”

Elijah grabbed a flailing hand. “Whoa, slow down,” he said, trapping Orlando’s hand between his own and squeezing. “Take a breath.”

Orlando took a deep breath in and held it, then let it out in a rush, sagging a little in his seat.

Elijah released Orlando’s hand and punched him gently in the shoulder. “I don’t care what you drive or if you drive, it just surprised me is all.” He settled back in the seat and looked around. “This is nice,” he said, then glanced at Orlando. “You know, if you want to learn how to drive, I can teach you.”

“Really?” Orlando said, turning a wide, hopeful gaze on him.

“Yeah, sure.” Elijah leaned back a little, his laughter strained. “And you can cut it out with the puppy eyes,” he said, tugging at his shirt collar. “You should save those for special occasions. They’re lethal.”

Orlando blinked at him. “Huh?”

Elijah sighed. “Never mind,” he said. “Where are we going, again?”

“Oh, the Country Club,” said Orlando, a shy smile spreading across his features. “It’s nice. Have you been?”

“The Country Club,” said Elijah. “As in _The_ Country Club.”

Orlando tilted his head. “Well, yeah,” he said. “We have a family membership there, so it’s one of the places I go when I want to play.”

Elijah laughed again. “A family membership, yeah. Okay.” He tugged his baseball cap down and sent a little prayer of thanks to the clothing gods that he’d chosen the red polo over his favorite Ramones’ t-shirt.

The Country Club, where the annual dues were more than most people’s entire mortgage and the membership fee to purchase the right to play on such a ridiculous, money-sucking playground was a cool one million dollars.

One. Million. Dollars. To play tennis. Or swim. Or whatever.

Maybe he should have worn the visor.

+

“Golf?” asked Elijah, scratching under the edge of his hat.

“Yeah,” said Orlando, his smile bright. “I’ll take those, Quentin. Thank you.” He took the bag of clubs from the driver and slung them over a shoulder. “I’ll be sure to text you when we’re done.” He turned to Elijah. “I think we can cut through the great room on our way to the club house. We can stop by the bar for a cooler of drinks to take with us. The staff is really nice about that.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Elijah, gesturing ahead of him. “Lead the way.” He couldn’t help his grin. If nothing else, Orlando’s happy ease was amusing in itself. The guy didn’t have any concept of social boundaries. He acted the same whether he was in Elijah’s cramped middle-class kitchen, handing out sports drinks to pee-wee’s playing soccer, or wandering through the most elite country club this side of the Mississippi.

It was one of the things Elijah liked best about him.

+

Elijah leaned in close and whispered in Orlando’s ear. “Why do we have company again?”

Orlando glanced up at the other player who was stepping up to the first tee. “Because it’s rude to book a private tee time on the weekend for just one person,” he said, quietly.

“So that’s why you stopped by the reservation desk and asked if any scratch players were waiting for times?” asked Elijah.

“Yes.”

“And what’s a scratch player?” asked Elijah.

“Someone with a zero handicap,” said Orlando, holding his finger to his lips as the other player teed up.

Elijah shut up just as the other player lined up and hit the ball – smacking it so far down the green it was hard to follow. Orlando said a few polite words as the other player moved away. Elijah watched as Orlando pulled a club out of his own bag and stepped up to the tee. Elijah tugged his baseball cap down, his gaze focused entirely on Orlando, who was one long line of sun-kissed, whipcord muscle wrapped in bright white cotton. He watched as Orlando lined up with the ball and after a few seconds, brought the club up high over his shoulder without a single wasted motion, his body arched, held in a motionless, sinuous curve that made Elijah’s breath catch a little.

Orlando unwound so fast Elijah stopped breathing altogether. And the ball was just—. Gone.

Something twisted deep in Elijah’s gut at the way Orlando held his finishing posture for a long moment after. It was like something out of one of those old movies, where the players were all about carefully controlled grace, and honing a perfect skill. It was like…it reminded him of…well, fuck.

It reminded him of watching the pros.

+

On the tenth green, Elijah watched Orlando sink a thirty foot putt with a combination of perfect nonchalance and breathtaking control. He crossed the green to hand Orlando a bottle of water and a towel, Orlando’s clubs slung over his shoulder.

“Elijah,” said Orlando, taking off his visor to wipe his face before putting it back on his head. “I’ll carry those.” He tipped back his head and downed half the bottle of water in a few gulps.

Elijah shook his head. “You just concentrate on continuing to kick this guy’s ass,” he said, hiking the bag up, “and I’ll play at being your caddie for the rest of this round.”

Orlando snorted water out his nose and had to wipe his face again, his face scrunching up as he grinned. “There’s not really much ass-kicking going on – he’s pretty good.”

“You’re taking fewer swings,” said Elijah, glancing down at the score card in his hand.

“I’m trying to get my handicap down,” said Orlando, walking over to pick up the soft-sided cooler that held their drinks. “We should head for the next tee.”

“What kind of handicaps do pro’s have?” asked Elijah, following Orlando.

“None,” said Orlando, finishing off the bottle of water and tucking it in the cooler. “Professionals don’t use handicaps.”

Elijah looked at Orlando. “What’s your handicap?”

“Well, it can vary depending on the course and other factors, but here it’s a two.”

“Two,” said Elijah, stopping. “Your handicap is a two. And you’re trying to get it _down_.”

“Well, yeah,” said Orlando, taking the golf bag off Elijah’s shoulder and pulling out his driver. “That’s what golfers do.” He stepped away and crossed to the tee, bending over to place his ball.

“That’s what golfer’s do, he says,” muttered Elijah, crossing his arms over his chest. “Even with a handicap of two.” He snorted, but couldn’t help a grin as he watched Orlando knock another one out of sight.

+

“Hey.”

Orlando looked up from sipping his iced tea and squinted at Elijah. “Mm?” The straw still clamped between his teeth.

Elijah propped his chin in one hand and leaned on the club-house table. “Why did you act weird when I asked you if you played a sport?” His gaze searching Orlando’s. “Why didn’t you just say it was golf?”

Orlando released the straw and stared down at his drink. He cleared his throat. “Remember how I said my dad was a banker?”

“Yeah.” Elijah looked confused.

“Well,” Orlando shifted in his chair and glanced at Elijah, “it’s more like he owns a few banks.”

Elijah just looked at him.

“Big, international ones,” said Orlando.

Elijah shrugged. “So? You move a lot because your dad has a big job – I get that. What I don’t get is what that has to do with you playing golf.”

Orlando sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Actually, we don’t move because of his job. He doesn’t…work a whole lot. Mostly he just has to fly to board meetings and stuff.” He stirred the remains of his drink with his straw. “We move so he can play golf,” he muttered.

Elijah blinked at him.

Orlando made a vague gesture with one hand. “He can do his job from anywhere – what little there is. He moves us because he likes spending enough time in one area to play all of the courses, win a few tournaments, learn the local circuits.” His expression was rigid, offering details like he was reading a grocery list. “We might spend more time than usual here because of all the courses in this area. At least, that’s what happened in Atlanta.” He trailed off at the end, still staring at his drink, already bracing himself for the ridicule he knew was coming. When nothing happened after a few seconds, he lifted his gaze to meet Elijah’s.

Elijah snorted and shook his head. “Damn, I’m glad you’re family’s weirder than mine. You had me worried there for a minute.”

Orlando gaped at him.

“So what?” Elijah shrugged. “You’re dad’s a golf freak. Whatever.” His smirk was just this side of wicked. “Actually, I should probably thank him for moving here.”

“Huh?”

Elijah reached across the table and thumped Orlando right between his wide brown eyes with a finger. “Idiot,” he said, softly. “I wouldn’t have met you otherwise. Besides, I think it’s awesome he plays golf.”

Orlando blinked at him and rubbed the spot between his eyes. “What? Why?”

Elijah leaned back in his chair, drink cradled against his chest, straw clamped between his teeth, blue eyes glittering as he stared at Orlando. “You probably wouldn’t have learned how to play otherwise, and I’ve never seen anything hotter than you swinging away with those clubs.”


	3. Chapter 3

When mid-terms came around, it only took Orlando one afternoon of trying to study at his house with Elijah to decide that the library would be a better choice.

Much less fun, but still – better. At least he kept more of his clothes on.

“This sucks,” said Elijah, muttering out of the corner of his mouth, his head propped on his hand as he stared with listless disinterest at his history book. The library was deserted this time of day, the long table they shared tucked away in the reference section.

Orlando looked up and nudged Elijah’s foot with his own. “At least we’re actually studying,” he said, keeping his voice down, but he was smiling as he returned to reviewing his notes.

“Hm,” said Elijah, idly turning a page. “I think I learned more yesterday.”

“I doubt it.” Orlando resisted the urge to look up.

Elijah crossed his arms over the book, dropped his chin on top of them and stared at Orlando. “I learned that you stop breathing entirely right before you’re about to come,” he said, his eyes glittering.

Orlando looked up so fast he dropped his pen and banged his knee on the table leg. “Shh,” he hissed, his face flooding with color as he retrieved his pen.

“What?” Elijah raised both eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure you learned a lot of stuff yesterday, too.”

“No, I…don’t say stuff like…shut up,” said Orlando, ducking his head and frowning, even as his cheeks continued to burn. “You’re so—” he broke off with an inarticulate sound and flipped over his notebook, his pen scratching furiously across the paper.

Elijah slid a hand across the table and ghosted his fingers over Orlando’s wrist. “Tell me,” he said, murmuring the words as he traced careful circles over warm skin.

Orlando went still, his gaze fixed on Elijah’s fingers. He shook his head and swallowed hard. His lips parted and he sipped at the air, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he bit his lip, ducked his head and continued writing.

Elijah slid his fingers under Orlando’s and nudged Orlando’s free hand over, palm up. He traced each finger carefully from base to tip and when he got to the middle finger, Orlando shuddered. Elijah kept going. “I learned that waiting a month to touch you – hands on skin – almost killed me,” Elijah murmured.

Orlando’s hand twitched violently under Elijah’s fingers, but he kept writing. His teeth were digging a permanent crease in his lower lip.

Elijah stroked Orlando’s thumb with his whole hand, mimicking a motion he’d used only once before. “And that you’re strong enough to hold me down with just your mouth,” he whispered, then started when Orlando yanked his hand away and stood up.

Cheeks flushed, Orlando ripped the paper out of his notebook with a shaking hand and slapped it on top of Elijah’s history book before striding off in the direction of the nearest men’s room.

Wide-eyed, Elijah stared at Orlando’s retreating back then looked down at the paper. His eyes got even wider as he read.

Elijah made a quiet, strangled sound deep in his throat, snatched up the paper and scrambled after him.

+

“You ready to go?” asked Elijah, stuffing his books in his backpack as the final bell rang.

Orlando nodded and stood up. “Aren’t the mid-terms and class rankings supposed to be posted today?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Elijah. “We can swing by the office on our way out.”

“Alright,” said Orlando, turning as Sean asked him a question. By the time they extricated themselves from the classroom, the scores had already been posted and the crowds were heavy around the bulletin board outside the main office. Orlando trailed behind Sean as he elbowed his way up to the front, amused at how quickly the crowd parted in front of his friend. The board finally in sight, Orlando’s gaze went immediately to the top of the list. His eyes widened and he turned around to stare at Elijah.

Elijah gave the board a cursory glance then turned down the hall, heading for the student parking lot. “You coming?” he asked Orlando over his shoulder.

Orlando’s mouth opened, then closed. He snorted, abandoning Sean at the board as he stalked after Elijah. “That’s all you’re going to say?” he said, his voice going up on the end of the sentence.

“What?” Elijah looked at him. “You’re ranked second in the class.” He patted Orlando on the shoulder. “You did good.”

Orlando stopped and gestured helplessly with one hand, making a variety of inarticulate sounds.

Elijah grinned and kept walking. “But I did better.”

+

“Are you sure?” Elijah asked, his voice quiet and serious as he looked up at Orlando.

Orlando swallowed hard and nodded.

“Orlando,” said Elijah, reaching up to brush a curl off Orlando’s damp forehead. “We don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready.”

“Shut up, already. I’m sure,” said Orlando. He shifted closer, his expression determined. “And I’m more than ready.”

Elijah chuckled and dropped his hand to squeeze Orlando’s shoulder. “Then you’re going to have to relax,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone who looked so nervous.”

“I am relaxed,” said Orlando, “and I really want to do it.” He took a deep breath and leaned over Elijah to punch in the code that opened the double bay garage door.

Elijah twirled the set of car keys in his hands and let out a low whistle. “Okay, but I’ve never taught anyone how to drive in a Mercedes before.”

+

The doorbell rang and Orlando jumped up from his perch on the bench in the front hall, fake sword clattering against his hip as he tugged nervously on the edge of his navy tunic. “It’s only a Halloween party,” he muttered and yanked open the door. He gaped at Elijah.

“A knight, huh?” Elijah asked, his gaze traveling slowly down the length of Orlando’s body. “Nice tights.”

Orlando’s mouth was still open, his cheeks turning an attractive shade of pink. He made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat as his gaze traveled first down, then up Elijah’s body. He swallowed – audibly. “What the hell are you wearing?” Blushing when the words came out far more husky than he’d intended.

Elijah lifted one side of the short, plaid uniform skirt and did a quick twirl on the porch, his smirk even more evil than usual as he watched Orlando’s gaze drop to the pale expanse of thigh visible between the tops of his knee-high socks and the skirt’s hem. “A St. Mary’s uniform.” He ran both hands down the crisp white uniform shirt, squeezing the stuffing that filled the borrowed bra underneath. “I’m a catholic school girl.”

Orlando made another strangled sound and his hand twitched – towards the bare skin of Elijah’s thigh.

Elijah made a tsking sound under his breath and snatched Orlando’s wrist before he could make contact. “None of that until after the party. C’mon,” yanking Orlando down the stairs behind him, “we’re gonna be late.”

+

Elijah groaned and clutched handfuls of dark curls. “Good. _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, his head thumping back against the door. “That has got to be…oh, god… the shortest appearance I’ve ever made at a party.” Another thump. Then a moan so loud he bit his lip. Gasped. And hunched forward – choking out Orlando’s name as he shuddered. “Argh, I hate you,” he panted when he’d found the blasted apart bits of his brain again. He glanced down and his knees threatened to buckle.

The lump under his plaid skirt shifted and the material fluttered as Orlando’s dark curls came into view, a wet tongue sweeping over swollen, smirking lips. “Just… _fuck_ ,” Elijah said with a sigh, and gave up entirely on his knees as he slid down the door. He cradled Orlando’s cheeks between his palms and swept his thumb over the damp part of Orlando’s lips.

“I hate you, too,” Orlando whispered against his finger, his smile hot and bright and telling him the truth.

+

“Just for the record,” Orlando panted, “I hate running.”

Elijah snorted, then gasped as he stumbled and arms wind milling awkwardly, tennis shoes slapping the pavement as he regained his footing. “Shut up, it’s for charity.”

“Charities suck,” Orlando wheezed, swiping a sweaty hand across his even sweatier forehead.

Elijah grinned. “What sucks is that Sean is still ahead of us.”

Orlando groaned. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

Elijah shook his head. “The bastard keeps turning around to check on us. He’s fucking running backwards.”

“Well,” Orlando gasped after another dozen strides, “can’t let him actually win, can we?”

It was Elijah’s turn to groan. “Somehow I knew you’d say that.” He sucked in a lung full of air and tried to find his second wind. “Last one to the finish line has to bottom.”

Orlando choked and nearly lost his footing, growling at the sound of Elijah’s laughter – drifting far too quickly ahead of him. “Argh, seriously? You both suck!”

+

“How did you get this number?” Orlando hissed, cradling the hall phone against his cheek.

“Why aren’t you answering your mobile?”

“We have company, so it’s up in my room,” said Orlando, keeping his voice low. “But that still doesn’t explain how you got the house number.”

Elijah chuckled. “I bribed Quentin with a case of Golden Monkey.”

“Seriously?” Orlando pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He flinched at the sound of crystal and glass clinking behind him, the low buzz of polite conversation filtering out into the hall.

“Relax, you idiot.” Elijah soothed. “Your mom gave it to me when I was over before the break.” There was a pause, then Elijah spoke again – his voice quiet. “Hey, Merry Christmas.”

Orlando swallowed and wrapped his hand up in the old-fashioned cord. “Merry Christmas,” he said, a slow smile filtering through the words.

“How many people are over there anyway?” Elijah asked.

Orlando glanced over his shoulder. “It’s a formal dinner, so only 24.”

“Formal, huh?” Elijah tucked one arm behind his head and scrunched down against the lumpy pillows in his Grandparents’ guest room. “Where are you?”

“On the hall phone.”

“Right across from the dining room?”

“Yeah, why?” Orlando asked.

There was a heartbeat of silence, then Elijah asked, “What are you wearing?”

“What?” Orlando was hissing again. “There are people here, I have to get back to…”

“C’mon, just tell me.”

Orlando looked down at his attire. “It’s white tie.” He frowned when he heard something that sounded very much like a groan on the other end of the phone.

“So you’re in a tux?” Elijah’s voice sounded suspiciously husky.

“No, a white dinner jacket with black slacks and a bowtie and such.” Orlando’s gaze narrowed. That was definitely a groan.

“Damn, I’ll bet you smell good, too,” Elijah murmured.

The was the sound of fabric shifting over skin. Orlando swallowed hard, his hand tightening on the cord. “W-what?” Blushing at the way his voice hitched. “Are you out of your mind? I’m standing in the hall…”

“It makes me hard just thinking about what you must look like right now. And you’re blushing, too, right?” Elijah asked, more suspicious noises carrying across the connection.

Orlando bit his lower lip. Hard. And didn’t answer.

Elijah’s chuckle was pure, unfiltered sex. “Wanna know what I’m doing right now?”

Orlando clutched the hall table, the flush that had started on his cheeks spreading down. Way, way down. “No. I…you…” he choked on the words, flustered by the amount of heat Elijah could generate with just a few sentences. “I hate you,” he hissed, hand trembling around the phone.

“Get your ass up to your room as soon as you can and call me.” Elijah said.

Orlando made a noise that sounded very much like a snarl. “Argh…fine,” he snapped and hung up the phone.

+

“If I’d known not seeing you for two weeks would make you this toppy, I’d have taken a damn vacation months ago.” Elijah’s voice was a low murmur, his breath ruffling the hair at Orlando’s temple, one hand tracing idle patterns down the long line of his back.

Orlando snorted, but didn’t move from his languorous sprawl against Elijah’s chest.

Elijah chuckled and rubbed his feet against the backs of Orlando’s thighs, toes kneading the long, sweat-shined muscles. “You were really loud,” he said, mouthing the top of Orlando’s ear.

“Well, you came so hard I thought you’d sprained something,” Orlando mumbled, gathering up enough energy to lift his head.

Elijah smirked and tilted his head down, rubbing a kiss across Orlando’s mouth. “It’s your fault for getting so good at fucking,” he murmured.

“You’ve got such a dirty mouth,” Orlando whispered and shifted higher, hands sweeping hot over sun-kissed skin and Elijah’s lips parted.

+

“Guys, seriously?” Sean slumped a little in the bright orange food court chair. “This is never going to work.”

“Shut up,” said Elijah. “We can find you a date.”

“But at the mall?” Sean whined.

“Yes, at the mall,” said Elijah. “God knows they sell everything else here.”

Orlando whacked Elijah on the shoulder.

“Ow, I was joking.”

Sean pressed on. “But it’s the Valentine Ball. Next Saturday.” Sean drooped a little more, letting his head fall over the back of the chair. “How lame is that? Asking a girl to a dance the week before. It’s like I’m socially retarded, or something.”

Orlando and Elijah shared a look over the remnants of their fast food lunches.

Sean rubbed his fists against his eyes and yawned before straightening again. He frowned and reached for his bottled water and the last two pills on his napkin. “Stupid cousins and their stupid new exchange student boyfriends. Melody’s always gone to the school dances with me, ever since we were in Cotillion together. Traitor.”

Elijah snorted. “Sean, you don’t even like Melody.”

“So?” said Sean. “She’s a girl, isn’t she?”

Orlando pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s right. This is never going to work.”

Elijah shoved back from the table and stood, hitching his faded jeans up and flicking down the hem of his Ramone’s t-shirt. “Both of you stop your whining and get up. We have some girl shopping to do.”

Orlando whacked him again.

+

“Where’d you leave him?” Orlando collapsed on the bench next to Elijah and dropped a couple of shopping bags between his feet.

“Trying on jeans at Hollister,” said Elijah, opening one eye and pulling the ear buds out of his ears. “I told him to burn the ones he had on and meet us at the Starbucks inside the book store.” Elijah’s own bags were piled on the floor next to him.

Orlando chuckled and bent over his bags. “Good. I went back and exchanged two of the ‘young republican’ straight-jackets he’d picked out for this.” He held up a dove gray cashmere sweater with simple, classic lines.

Elijah caught a sleeve between his fingers. “Nice.” He yawned, stretched and stood up. “Remind me to never and try and fix a depressed Sean by taking him shopping.”

“Never try and fix a depressed Sean by taking him shopping,” said Orlando, obediently.

This time Elijah whacked him on the shoulder.

+

Orlando and Elijah gaped openly at the girl standing in front of them.

“Yes, I know! It really is amazing how many crossovers there have been between the young adult and adult trade fiction markets in the last few years. I’m Taylor, by the way, Taylor Sterling. Not that surprising, though, given the kind of exposure kids get now a days, I mean, haha.” Taylor pushed a pair of bright red framed glasses higher on her nose and juggled the huge stack of books she was carrying to her other shoulder. “Exposure to adult themes, not like, from flashers.” She laughed again. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the naked human body.” Her blue eyes widened and she turned to Orlando so fast her sandy blonde ponytail listed to one side. “Speaking of, there’s a great cook book out by Paulie Broom right now that focuses on how to increase caloric intake in a healthy way, you know – without succumbing to the fast food nation that we are, haha. Not that you’re unhealthy or anything, just a few pounds under your ideal.” Without drawing breath, she turned to Elijah. “Maybe you could buy it for him for his birthday or something? What with you two, you know, haha,” the color on her cheeks brightened and her laugh went up a few octaves. “being together and all. So cute, by the way. So cute.”

Elijah blinked at her.

Orlando sounded like he was choking on something.

Her blue eyes widened behind the thick glasses and her blush seemed painted on for life. “Oh, I’m sorry, I said that last part out loud, didn’t I? I can’t help it, I just have this, you know – thing. Where I can tell and I’m usually so, so right. Like, all the time.” Her voice trailed off as she seemed to be captivated by something – or someone – over their shoulder. “Oh,” she said, with a little sigh. “He’s not, though, is he? Not at all.”

Elijah had a pretty good idea of who she was looking at, without having to turn around. He glanced at Orlando. “It’s Sean, isn’t it?”

Orlando turned to look over his shoulder and made another, even stranger sound. “It is.”

Elijah grinned at him. “They really do have everything here.”

Orlando snorted. “One Valentine Ball date, coming up,” he said under his breath as he moved to catch the books that were tumbling out of the girl’s arms. “Taylor? There’s someone we’d like you to meet.”

+

Elijah still looked a little dazed as Orlando entered the key code and unlocked the door, ushering him into the kitchen.

“That was my friend Sean Astin, right? Big jock, talks too much, dresses like a pre-schooler, socially awkward, but good intentioned?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Orlando, mostly over his own shock.

“That charming, reserved, sweet talking, ladies man was Sean. Really?”

“Really, really,” said Orlando, his grin growing with every incredulous word.

Elijah started to laugh and couldn’t stop. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Can you imagine what their kids are going to be like?”

+

The music was too loud, the punch not nearly spiked enough and the decorations were straight out of last year’s Fashion Week. Elijah sighed and tipped his head back against the banquet chair, rolling his eyes to one side as he felt something warm brush against his shoulder. “So bored,” he whined.

Orlando set down two cups of punch and folded himself into an elegant sprawl in the chair beside him. “Not my fault you can’t dance.” He tugged lightly on the sleeves of his tux and ran an impatient hand through his hair.

“Won’t, not can’t,” said Elijah, lifting a plastic cup to take a sip. He made a face and hastily returned it to the table.

“Molesting me while remaining in a vertical position is not dancing,” Orlando quipped, reaching for his own cup to hide the flush to his cheeks at his own daring.

Elijah snorted and rubbed a shoe-less foot against Orlando’s calf under the table, grinning when Orlando made an undignified sound and whipped his head around to glare at him. Elijah’s eyes were wide and innocent. “What?”

Orlando’s gaze narrowed. After a long moment he leaned in close, mouth barely brushing the curve of Elijah’s ear as he spoke in a low murmur meant for Elijah’s ears only.

Elijah’s eyes widened, then narrowed, a quiet wash of color streaking across his cheeks as he listened. And shifted. And listened some more. He had to open his mouth to remind himself to breathe. Just as he went from shifting to a full-bodied shudder, Orlando sat back, smiled and took a sip of his punch.

Elijah growled, low and dangerous in the back of his throat.

“Not bored now, are you?” Orlando said, with a smirk.

+

Elijah looked up at the sound of what could only be Sean trundling across the grass towards him, backpack, satchel, workout bag and who knows what other school activity paraphernalia swinging from both arms.

Sean came to a stop under the tree Elijah was leaning against, dropped the entire mess into a pile, threw himself on the ground, and didn’t say a word.

Elijah snorted and went back to reading his book.

Sean sniffed, leaned back on his hands and stared up into the tree branches, squinting against the shifting spokes of bright afternoon sun. “Are you really in love this time?” he asked, simply. Quietly.

It was a few seconds before Elijah made a small humming sound in the back of his throat and slowly closed his book.

Sean tipped his head sideways to look at him.

Elijah opened his mouth as if to speak and his gaze shifted, slipping over Sean’s shoulder to something beyond. His lips pursed then curled up at the corners. The bright blue gaze mellowed and the edges of his eyes softened.

Sean rolled his head to the other side, following the direction of Elijah’s gaze and watched Orlando stroll unhurriedly across the wide lawn.

The wind ruffled dark curls, a loose tie and the jacket he had slung over a shoulder. A leather satchel bumped gently against Orlando’s hip as he lifted a hand in greeting “Hi, Sean,” he said, warm and friendly, then a soft, “Hey,” to Elijah, his slow smile melting into the word.

Sean grinned and closed his eyes, tipping his head back to the sun. “Never mind.”

END


End file.
